The Sweetest Taboo
by Skinnyblackgirl
Summary: Kyra James moved to Charming looking to be close to her family. Juice came home from Stockton State Prison looking for an Old Lady. They found each other.  Takes place almost a year and a half after the end of Season Three. Juice/OC
1. Chapter 1

**_AUTHOR'S NOTE: I have no rights or ownership of any Sons of Anarchy plots or characters. I'm just an admirer of Kurt Sutter's work. The character Kyra James, however, does belong to me! _**

**_Kyra _**

"Who in the eff knows how to be successful? Need a personal Jesus. I'm in Depeche Mode…" Kyra James mumbled along with the Jay-Z lyrics that bounced around the Mercedes Benz. It was another one of many beautiful days in Charming and Kyra smiled at the early summer breeze as she whipped her boss's car into the Teller-Morrow Automotive lot. There were a few duties she hated to perform as Elliot Oswald's executive assistant, but driving his Benz through town was not one of them. As she pulled up to the garage, she turned the volume down on the radio and removed her iPod from the AUX port. Not that any of the TM mechanics would have cared if greeted with loud rap music when they turned the ignition, but Kyra preferred to keep her image professional when acting on Elliot's behalf. She checked the mirror to make sure that no strands of her dark brown hair had broken from the neat bun on the nape of her neck, pulled down the hem of her pencil skirt, and climbed out of the Benz.

_One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. _She counted her steps as her heels clicked across the concrete. Counting was a trick she used to hide her nerves. A native of one of Oakland's rougher neighborhoods, Kyra wasn't easily rattled but the TM lot, which doubled as the clubhouse of the Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club Redwood Original or SAMCRO as they were called in town, put her on edge. A black woman walking through Niner territory in office attire was one thing, but a black woman in office attire walking across a lot populated with hairy, tattooed white outlaw bikers was something totally different. Not scary, but slightly uncomfortable. She'd learned, however, to never let people see her sweat, so the counting in her head continued until she reached the garage's front office. There sat Gemma Teller, the wife and mother of SAMCRO's President and Vice President, at her desk surrounded by invoices. Kyra greeted her, "Good afternoon, Gemma."

"Hey Kyra," she said, looking over the rims of her glasses. "What can we do for Elliot today?"

"Oil change and a tune up."

"Ok. Drop the keys. Should be an hour or so," Gemma said. She noticed the laptop bag on Kyra's shoulder. "You plan on staying?"

"If it's not a problem," replied Kyra. "I've got some work to finish before close of business. Anywhere I can plug in?"

Gemma stood. "Yeah, you can work from here. Elliot's our last order and your Aunt is dropping Abel off soon so I'll be in the clubhouse. You need internet?"

"Please," Kyra answered.

"I'll send somebody in to hook it up for you in a few minutes. Try not to move anything around. I've gotta go through those invoices later."

"Yes ma'am." Kyra mumbled as she opened her bag and settled behind the desk.

**_Juice_**

It was as if nothing had changed in the last year. Juice was at his post at the bar in the SAMCRO clubhouse; surveillance screen above his head, his fingers poised over the keyboard of his laptop. He'd taken moments like these for granted before going inside. He and his brothers were released from Stockton about a week ago and were still readjusting to freedom. Browsing Google, he relaxed in his seat with a happy ease. He was _home. _

From the corner of his eye, Juice noticed activity from the surveillance camera. A black Mercedes Benz had parked in the TM lot and he was immediately on alert. Since that night almost two years ago when Ethan Zobelle pulled his Benz into TM and declared war on SAMCRO, he was suspicious of foreign luxury cars on the property. He kept his eye on the footage, attempting to get a make on the plates and saw a pair of black stilettos exit the vehicle. His eyes went upward, taking in slender shapely legs that looked like they'd been dipped in milk chocolate. "Well aren't those lovely?" Chibs chimed in next to him as the owner of the legs stepped out of the car. Juice felt a twinge of disappointment when he saw her attire. Office wear. She was one of those stuck up professional types. "Who's the suit?" he finally asked Chibs.

"Think she works for Oswald. Brings in his cars for maintenance every now and then."

Bobby joined them at the bar, his eyes glued to the screen. "Think Oswald's tappin that?"

"Aye," Chibs replied. "If he's smart."

Juice continued to watch as she made her way across the lot. He couldn't get a good look at her face, so he let his eyes travel the length of her body. He guessed she was about 5'6" without the stilettos. She was slender and toned, but well curved where it counted. Decent rack. Small Waist. Her strut made her hips sway back and forth, emphasizing a round, high-sitting ass that bounced under her skirt. Not so much that it was sloppy, like many of the worn out asses on the Crow Eaters that frequented the lot, but just enough to be soft to the touch. _They don't make asses like that in Charming_, Juice thought before she disappeared into Gemma's office.

"Show's over boys," Bobby announced and he and Chibs returned to their game of pool. Juice went back to browsing the web. A few minutes later, Gemma walked into the clubhouse and called his name.

"Wassup Gem?"

"Neeta's niece is in the office and needs to get hooked up to our wireless."

Juice was confused. "Neeta has a niece?"

"Yeah. She works for Elliot. Moved here about a month ago." Gemma studied his face, picking up on his curiosity. "You want her sign and a list of her favorite things too?"

Juice chuckled and shook his head. "Wireless. I'm on it."

When he reached the office, he hesitated at the door. He hadn't expected her to be this pretty. She was a tad lighter than the black and white security camera portrayed; closer to dark caramel than milk chocolate. Her features were gentle: hooded, dark brown eyes; her nose prominent, but not too wide; and full lips that boasted a hint of tinted gloss. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, making it clear that she was indeed all business as she balanced a laptop on her thighs. Juice broke the silence. "Somebody called for wireless?"

She looked up, and in a matter of seconds her eyes went from nervous to surprised to curious. Whatever thoughts raced through her head were in check by the time she spoke. "Um yeah." She stood up and leaned against the desk. Their knees brushed when Juice moved around her to take her seat in front of the computer.

"So you're Neeta's niece?" he asked when he was settled at the desk.

"Yeah," she replied in a tone that was more than polite but not quite friendly. "Kyra."

Juice nodded as he clicked around on the laptop. He was surprised it was an HP. Most yuppies preferred Macs. "You from around here?"

"By around here, I'm assuming you mean the general area," she said, a hint of a smile in her voice. "I'm from Oakland."

Oakland? That was unexpected. Though he wasn't familiar with the parts of Oakland that weren't Niner or Mayan territories. "Well, Kyra from Oakland, your wireless is good to go." When Juice stood up, she took a generous step backward, probably trying to avoid another brush of contact. He smirked.

"Thank you…" Kyra searched his face for a name.

"Juice."

She raised a brow. He was used to that reaction when he introduced himself. "Thank you, Juice."

Juice tapped the doorframe. "No problem. I'll be around the lot if you need any more help."

**_Kyra _**

It was 6pm when Kyra dropped Elliot's car at Oswald Industries in exchange for her midnight blue Ford Mustang. From there, she drove to Neeta's to cook dinner. With Gemma's husband and son in jail for the last fourteen months, Neeta practically lived with Gemma and her son's girlfriend Tara, tending to Gemma's grandsons Abel and Tommy. She'd been able to breathe this week since the men had come home and Kyra wanted her to relax as much as possible. The great caretaker that she was, Neeta needed someone to take care of her as well.

It was hard for Kyra to believe that the gentle, God-fearing nanny was the same woman who'd helped raise her in Oakland all those years ago. Kyra's mother had encouraged her to be intelligent, independent, and ambitious, and left Neeta to instill the toughness necessary to survive their neighborhood. Kyra still remembered Neeta's advice on her first day of high school. She'd warned that the kids would "try" Kyra because she was smart and kept to herself. "You have to make them respect you. Don't let anybody talk to you crazy and if one of those lil heffas comes at you the wrong way, beat the brakes off her ass." Neeta may have been all Bible verses and gospel songs to some, but to Kyra she was still the no-nonsense woman who'd raised her not to take any shit. And she was the only family Kyra had.

"Home, sweet home," Kyra said when she walked into her two bedroom apartment. She shed her skirt suit for a wife beater and a pair of shorts and relaxed on her couch with a glass of Merlot. When she heard the growl of motorcycles outside her window, she thought of Juice. Everything about him had caught her off guard. She'd figured Gemma would send someone from the club to hook up the wireless, and had braced herself when she heard him speak. She was surprised to look up and find a jovial clean-shaven brown face. Save for the leather and tattoos, nothing about him said "dangerous biker." He was downright boyish. She could tell that dimples dotted his cheeks when he smiled. The Mohawk and tattoos on his head were a little on the goofy side, but the man was definitely a cutie. When she moved around to let him sit, she got an up close and personal view of his physique. He was built like an NFL wide receiver, buff but not bulging. His arms and shoulders filled out his T-shirt perfectly. _Not bad, _she'd thought_. _Juice's demeanor had been easy in their brief exchange. Not at all menacing or intimidating. _Maybe all of SAMCRO isn't so bad, _Kyra thought before she got ready for bed.

**_Juice _**

Juice watched the smoke from his joint dance in the air above him. His bed was still warm from the Crow Eater who'd left only a few minutes ago. He used to be known among the girls as the "sweet one." The one who let them spend the night after sex, but he was different since he'd been home. He remembered in Stockton, feeling jealous when Clay and Jax got letters and pictures from Gemma and Tara. He'd lost his first and last girlfriend, Emily, when she could no longer compete with his lifestyle as a SAMCRO prospect and in the years since he'd patched, Juice never wanted an old lady. Crow Eaters kept him fed and fucked and he didn't need much more than that, but those nights in his cell had proved him wrong. He needed comfort when shit hit the fan. Lying next to a woman who couldn't provide that felt pointless.

The women of SAMCRO were an interesting bunch. Gemma was badass. So much so that she scared the shit out of Juice. No way could he handle a woman like that. Lyla was damn near mute. Juice figured as a porn star, her mouth was better suited for things other than talking. Tara was the closest thing to a normal chick the club had. Smart. Pretty. Loyal. She was a worrier, though. He was too laid back to have a woman that anxious.

He could pluck a Crow Eater from the bunch and make her his old lady. Any one of them would jump at the opportunity, but that was part of the problem. On any given night, any girl on that lot would accept that offer from any SAMCRO patch. Juice wanted someone who loved the club, but loved him more. _But where the hell do you find a woman like that_, he wondered.

_Kyra_. The name sat in the front of his mind as he took another pull from his joint. She didn't react to him the way he expected. She came off a little guarded, but not stuck up. Juice was almost certain he'd sensed something from her. He couldn't tell if it was interest or just natural curiosity. Or maybe it was nothing. Maybe he was just high. And lonely. _Yeah, this is pretty gay_. _You need to sleep this shit off. _He inhaled one last time and closed his eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Kyra**_

"Here you go miss. A double of Malibu rum with a splash of pineapple juice."

"Thanks," Kyra said with a smile, sliding her debit card to the bartender. "I'd like to start a tab." She took a sip of the drink to test the taste. She swirled the concoction around on her tongue. It was just sweet enough, just strong enough. Just the way she liked it.

After a month and a half in Charming, she'd ventured out of her apartment to have a drink in town. New establishments were popping up in the downtown area and she'd wanted to check out this bar for a few weeks. Though it was new, it wasn't particularly fancy. It seemed that even with the new developments and "progress" that Mayor Hale had promised, the new businesses maintained the small town feel of Charming. It didn't much matter to Kyra. San Francisco was close enough when she was in the mood for fancy. Today she just wanted good drinks to celebrate a good day. Before she left work, she'd found out that Elliot approved her proposal for a company-wide technology upgrade on accounting software. This was huge. She'd made it clear to Elliot that she was interested in accounting and he was pleased with the initiative she'd shown with the proposal.

Kyra felt someone take the seat on her right side. "Well look at this little chocolate Barbie doll," a male voice said.

Kyra took another sip of her drink and looked over her shoulder. He was an older man, she guessed in his 50s. His shirt indicated that he worked in a factory of some kind. She spotted the top of a swastika tattoo at the base of neck. _What the fuck? A Neo-Nazi? _When she met his gaze, she caught his eyes roaming her body. _I should've ordered a triple shot. _"Good evening," she said over her shoulder as she turned her back to him.

"You know I usually don't like your kind but you're a pretty lil thing. How about I buy you another drink?"

The prick was trying to get a rise out of her. "That's quite alright. I'm the _kind_ that likes to buy her own drinks," she snapped. As she swirled her straw around in her glass, she contemplated clearing her tab and leaving the bar. She knew it was the safe move, but her pride wouldn't let the asshole get the best of her. Instead, she called for another drink and braced herself for his next remark. She was so deep in thought that she barely heard the Harley pull up outside.

"Well that's mighty rude of ya. Didn't your mama teach you any manners?"

_My mama teaching me manners is the only reason I haven't kicked you in the balls yet, asshole._ Before she could answer, Kyra caught a glimpse of black leather on her left side. She was overcome with relief when she turned her head and saw Juice standing a few seats away from her at the bar. It had been a couple of weeks since their first encounter and they'd run into each other around town a few times. Their exchanges were short, but friendly.

She turned her attention back to the Neo-Nazi. "My manners are fine, sir. I just prefer my meat a lil darker," Kyra looked down at the man's crotch. "And a lot a bigger," she added before leaving her seat. _Please let him play along with this_, she thought as she approached Juice. She pressed her cheek against his and whispered in his ear, "Your next three rounds are on me, just please act like I'm with you so I can get this asshole off my back."

Juice responded by putting his hand on the small of her back, reaching down and grazing her ass as he planted a kiss on her cheek. She stepped back and gave him a raised brow.

"What?" he replied with mock innocence, "Just tryin' to be convincing."

"Yeah I'm sure," Kyra said as she sat next to him. She looked back at the seat she'd left and saw her harasser sulking into his glass.

Juice smiled, revealing his dimples. "I thought people from Oakland knew how to handle themselves?" he teased.

"Plan A was to kick him in the balls. Then you came in and I decided to take a more subtle approach," she took another sip of her drink. "And if we were in Oakland, I would have slapped you just now."

He paused, taking in her appearance. She was dressed down in a simple black T-shirt, skinny jeans and heels. Her hair was down, in loose spirals that framed her face. "You look different without the suit."

"Yeah, I tend to ditch the suit after five." It was her turn to size him up. He was in his usual MC uniform; T-shirt, baggy cargo jeans, and black military-style boots. His leather vest laid over his perfect shoulders. She felt the urge to bite her bottom lip; a telltale sign that she was turned on. _Be easy, Kyra. _"I know you're supposed to scare the shit out of everybody in that vest, but you don't really strike me as the scary type."

Juice turned up his shot of Jack Daniels and chuckled. "This 'vest' is called a 'cut.' And who says I'm supposed to be scary? I'm just a mechanic who loves Harleys and tech shit."

Kyra tilted her head to the side. She suddenly felt lighter. Her facial muscles relaxed a bit. The rum had started its descent upon her senses. She looked at Juice and wondered where he kept his gun. It was definitely a matter of _where_ and not _if_ he carried one. She eyed the waistband of his jeans, but remembered he was a biker, not a banger. She scanned up to his broad shoulders. _I bet he's got a holster under there. _He jumped a little as her hand moved toward his chest. She patted the outside of his cut, until she felt the handle of a gun under his arm. "And this?"

He smiled again. Damn, those dimples. "I like guns, too."

"You know," she started, "something's been bothering me since we met."

"What's that?"

"What the hell is your real name? I don't know how I feel about calling a grown ass man 'Juice.'"

Juice motioned for the bartender to send him another drink. "Look. I'll tell you, but only if you swear to me that you'll never use it."

Kyra shook her head. "I don't do promises."

Now Juice's brows were raised. "A woman who doesn't do promises? What planet are you from?"

"Stop trying to distract me from my question. What's your name?"

He sighed and gave her sheepish grin. "Juancarlos Ortiz."

Juancarlos. Now _that_ was a name suitable for the pretty brown boy with dimples. "That's not that bad."

"Yeah, well, like I said: don't get used to calling me that."

_Don't get used to? _Kyra's voice dropped half an octave. "And why would I get used to calling you at all?"

She could tell she caught him off guard. He didn't respond, just took another shot of whiskey. She watched his lips frame the rim of the small glass and was reminded of the peck he'd placed on her cheek earlier. His lips had been so soft. She felt heat rise to her cheeks as she imagined his lips on hers. _Shit. _The rum was in full-effect. _Quit while you're ahead._ She called for the bartender to cash out her tab and saw a hint of disappointment behind Juice's brown eyes. He rebounded quickly, waving off the bartender. "Don't worry. I got it."

"Well thank you, Mr. Ortiz," Kyra slid off of the barstool. "One last question before I go, though."

He tossed his head back, pretending to be annoyed. "Jesus Christ, what are you? A reporter?"

She cocked her head to the side. "How long had you been thinking about touching my ass before today?"

Juice dropped his head and laughed, taking a second before looking up at her face. "Since I saw you get out of Oswald's car at TM two weeks ago."

Kyra smiled and nodded. "Good night, Juice," she said and walked out of the bar.

_**Juice**_

Juice's thoughts roared above the sound of the engine beneath him. He ran down his encounter with Kyra bit by bit. She didn't bristle or turn rigid when he copped a feel. He bet that the look she gave him afterward was about masking her enjoyment rather than reprimanding him. She'd also made a point of letting him know that he didn't scare her. She could have been all talk, but then she'd felt for his gun. He didn't expect her to be that bold, and figured that she had a case of liquid courage, but still. There wasn't any hesitation or worry in her face when she found it, either. It was a totally different side to her. Unwound. At ease. Fiery enough to be intriguing, but not so much that she was intimidating. She was more observant than he'd initially given her credit for and had picked up on his attraction to her from the very beginning. By the time she left, he felt like she'd thrown out a dare: "I know you want it. I just might let you have it. Don't fuck it up."

Things were pretty slow around the SAMCRO clubhouse. Clay was still getting a feel for running their expanded gun business on the outside and the club still had to adjust to the new law in Charming. Juice wasn't surprised when he returned to a quiet clubhouse. Hap, Tig and Chibs were out front talking shit and Fil and Miles were inside at the bar. Their prospect period had been a little longer than usual, but Clay wanted to save the vote on their patches until the guys were out of prison. Juice would be happy for the new editions. One of them was bound to take the title of SAMCRO screw up and he was glad to give it away.

He settled in with his laptop and a bottle of Jack. _To run this check or not to run this check?_ From a logical standpoint, it didn't make sense for him to carry on his curiosity about Kyra. He was, after all, an intelligence officer. Whatever he wanted to know was at the tip of his fingers. Checking into her shit felt like an invasion, but he couldn't have these questions about her occupying so much space in his mind. Before he pursued her, he had to know who she was. Not only was she a stranger to the club, but she was an outsider to all of Charming. Juice wanted to believe that she was just a regular girl from Oakland, but he couldn't afford to risk it. He took a swig of his Jack and poised his fingers on the keyboard.

Kyra Renee James was 26 years old. Born in Oakland and raised in Niner territory by her mother Rhonda James. They lived in the hood until she was 16, when Rhonda moved into a quiet housing development outside of the city and enrolled Kyra in a private high school. She was listed as the bookkeeper and manager of her mother's hair salon, Miss Rhonda's, until 2006 when her mother died from breast cancer. The following year, Kyra sold the shop and the house and enrolled in California State University at Sacramento as an accounting major. She got her degree in May 2011 and moved to Charming, where Neeta, her last living relative, lived. She was a fighter. Prior to transferring high schools, she'd had a couple of suspensions on record for fighting in school. She also had an assault and disorderly conduct arrest at 21, for which charges had been dropped a few weeks later. And she was a registered gun owner.

Juice's brows were knitted over the paperwork scattered across his bed when he heard a knock at the door. "Yeah?" he answered.

The door opened and Jax peeked his head in. "Ay bro, we're at the table."

"Yup." Juice collected the papers into a pile and slammed the top down on his laptop.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Kyra**_

"There's a quiet storm. And it never felt like this before…" Kyra was lost in her thoughts as Sade crooned from her car speakers. It was her first time driving into Oakland from Charming. She was used to making her biannual Oakland trip from her old apartment in Sacramento. She was glad this drive was shorter. It was better if she wasn't alone in her head for long periods of time today.

It was July 22nd. Her mother's birthday. The fifth one since her death in 2006. It was one of two days a year that Kyra visited her mother's grave. The other was Mother's Day. Her mother never believed in commemorating anniversaries of death, so Kyra didn't either.

Sade had been Rhonda James's favorite singer. Kyra remembered the early days, when Rhonda styled hair in their two bedroom apartment. She always played Sade in the background. She claimed that Sade's voice kept her hands calm and helped her concentration. She'd hum and sway as she applied relaxers, ran straightening combs, and slathered shampoo into the heads of her clients. Always cool and collected. Part of what made her a great beautician was her belief in the power of appearances. They lived in the ghetto, but they never looked like it. Rhonda made sure that she and Kyra were neat and well-styled and with the exception of her occasional potty mouth, she was the epitome of class. Only those who were close to her saw her get angry or emotional.

Rhonda also believed in women being independent. "Can't be one of these dizzy ass broads waiting for the government or some man to take care of me and mine," she'd always say. Over the years she went from doing hair out of their apartment, to working in a shop, to owning and operating one of the most popular black hair salons in Oakland. While Rhonda loved doing hair, she always wanted more for Kyra. When she noticed that Kyra showed strong math skills in middle school, she made Kyra sit with her every month when she paid the bills. By the time she was 16, Kyra not only handled the bills in their house, but for the salon as well.

In many ways, Kyra was Rhonda's mini-me. They had the same facial features and the same slender build. Where they differed was in temperament. Kyra did a great job of mimicking her mother's composure on the outside, but beneath her cool surface was a hot temper. Whenever one of her personal boundaries was violated or she was disrespected, Kyra's rage would erupt out of nowhere. Rhonda knew they lived in a rough neighborhood and made sure to let Neeta teach Kyra to defend herself, she just didn't understand why Kyra had to solve her problems with brute force. She often said that the happiest day of her life was when she'd saved enough money to move to a better neighborhood and send Kyra to private school. She knew that as long as Kyra felt like her back was against the wall, she'd go through life swinging.

Kyra broke her thoughts when she noticed a sign stating that she was two miles from the Stockton exit. _Looks like I'm making good time_. She continued her sing-along with Sade until she smelled something burning. It took a few sniffs before she identified the scent as rubber. _What the fuck? _Outside of the car, she saw thick white smoke bubbling from under the hood. "No, no, no!" She whined. Not now. Not today. She considered riding the smoke out until Oakland, but when she could barely see the road in front of her, she had to pull over.

_**Juice**_

Juice had just put on his TM work shirt when he heard Gemma call his name from the office.

"What's up?" he answered.

"Tell one of the Prospects to get the truck. Kyra's stranded on the Four and needs a tow."

He hadn't seen Kyra since their run-in at the bar a few nights ago. He didn't mind having an excuse to see her again. "I can do it," he said.

Gemma eyes narrowed as she cocked her head slightly. "Any reason you're jumping at the chance to pick up a tow?"

Juice hesitated. How the hell did Gemma _always _know _everything_? "I…ummm…Got a lot on the brain. Just in the mood for a drive."

"Yeah," she scoffed. She obviously wasn't convinced. "She's a couple miles from the Stockton exit. Headed westbound."

Juice grabbed the keys and hopped in the tow truck. He was only half-lying when he said he needed to take a drive. He wasn't used to things being so calm. The eight months before he went to prison had been so hectic, that it felt odd to not be in crisis mode. His current routine of fixing cars, gathering intel for possible snitches in the new city government, and fucking Crow Eaters bored him. At the most, he'd get to see Kyra. At the least, the drive would break up the monotony.

Kyra was sitting in her Mustang, fiddling with her Blackberry when Juice pulled up. She got out of the car and he noticed worry lines on her forehead. "This is the second time in a week that I'm saving your ass," he said with a smile after he got out of the truck. He checked her eyes for the spark of interest that usually sat behind them. It wasn't there.

"Yeah," she said, flatly. "I'm a regular damsel in distress these days."

He nodded toward the car, "So what's the problem here?"

She sighed and leaned against the driver's side of the car. "One minute everything was fine and the next, I smelled burned rubber. Looked up and there was smoke coming from the hood."

Juice lifted the hood and stepped back when he got a whiff of smoke. "It's your head gasket. You need to have it replaced."

Kyra crossed her arms. "And how long will that take?"

"The actual maintenance? Not long. But we have to order the part. Have it back to you by tomorrow afternoon."

"No way to have it ready by today?"

Juice looked up at her and shook his head. "Sorry. We're buried today. Saturdays tend to be pretty busy."

She rubbed her temples. "Gotdammit."

"Everything okay?"

She sighed again. "This is just…" her voice quivered, "fucked up timing."

Holy shit. Was she about to cry? Juice had no clue what to do with crying women. "Well, get what you need out of the car and I'll hitch it up."

Kyra was quiet as she grabbed her purse and iPod and walked to the passenger side of the tow truck. Once again, he was in new territory with her. He'd seen Reserved Kyra and Bold Kyra. The woman he saw today was completely different than either personality he'd met before. As a mechanic he'd seen women freak out over car trouble, but this reaction was a bit much. She seemed genuinely hurt. He knew she wasn't worried about paying for the repairs. He'd seen her bank statements.

They started back toward Charming and he wondered how to handle this. Should he try to get her to talk about it? Did he make a joke to distract her? Or did he just leave her to her thoughts? He looked over at her as she stared out of the passenger window. He caught her reflection and saw tears running down her cheeks. He had no idea what to say. One thing he'd learned in SAMCRO was that when he didn't know what to say, it was best to shut the fuck up.

He rolled down his window and reached in his pocket for a joint. "You mind if I smoke?" he asked.

Kyra shook her head. "No. Go ahead," she mumbled.

He lit the joint and took a few pulls. He hated the silence. He'd been looking forward to seeing her for days and now that she needed comfort, he didn't know what to do. He felt like an idiot.

"Hey," she broke the silence. "Mind if I take a hit of that?"

She smoked? This one was full of surprises. But if it would help her feel better… "Here you go."

She wiped her eyes before turning around to accept the joint. Her first puff was short, as if she hadn't done it in awhile and needed to get used to the smoke again. The second puff was longer. She eased back into the seat as she exhaled and passed the joint back to him. "Thanks," she said before closing her eyes.

If weed made her feel better, then weed, she could have. "You can have this one if you want," he offered. "I've got a couple more in my pocket."

Kyra opened her eyes. Juice could've sworn that a small corner of her mouth turned upward. "That's…nice of you," she accepted the joint and took another long drag.

"You umm…" he hesitated, "need to talk? Or just _want_ to talk about it?"

Kyra continued to smoke; her eyes fixed on the road ahead. "I lost my mother about five years ago. I was on my way to visit her grave because today's her birthday." She paused, attempting to swallow the cry that threated to free itself from her throat. "I've never missed her birthday before."

"Damn. Sorry to hear that," he replied. He could tell she needed to say more, so he asked another question, even though he already knew the answer. "How'd she die?"

"Breast cancer. She was diagnosed the week I was supposed to leave for college. They gave her two years. She made it to four." Kyra exhaled more smoke. "It was her dream to see me graduate from college, but I couldn't leave her when she got sick, so I stayed in Oakland and went to Sac State the year after she passed. Today, I was finally gonna say to her: 'Ma, I did it.'" This time, she couldn't stop herself from getting choked up. "'I got my degree.' Fuckin' car…"

Juice looked down at her hand on the arm rest. Holding it felt like the right thing to do for some reason, so he reached for it. "I'm sorry, Kyra," he said, looking into her eyes.

She looked down at his hand and gave him a small smile. "Thanks Juan."

Juice put his hand back on the wheel. "If you want, we can drop your car off at TM and I can take you to see your mom on my bike…"

"You don't have to do that-"

"I know I don't _have_ to," he interrupted. "I'm asking if you _want_ me to."

Kyra nodded. "Yeah. I'd really appreciate that. Thanks."

Her relief put him at ease. He didn't even need to light up another joint. They rode back to Charming in comfortable silence.

The lot was packed when they dropped off her car. Juice hoped to get out before Gemma spotted him and asked a bunch of questions. He knew how she could be with women around the club, especially outsiders. Though he believed that Kyra could hold her own, she was in a vulnerable place and there was no need to subject her to Gemma before he made an official move. When he spotted Miles, he gave the prospect instructions on the car and pointed Kyra in the direction of his Dyna. She hesitated as she walked toward it.

"Don't tell me you've never been on a bike before," he said. He could always sense first-time riders.

"Nope. All my exes drove SUVs with rims," she cracked.

Juice smiled. She was back to her sarcastic self. "Well the good news is your job is easy. Just put on this helmet and hold on tight. Oh, and if you don't like the taste of flies, keep your mouth closed."

"I guess I can handle that." She fastened the helmet and settled onto the back of his bike.

He sat down and turned the throttle. Kyra gripped his waist and laid her cheek on his back. It felt _right_, as though she'd been there a million times. And yet, the sensations of her hands clutching his body and breasts pressed against his back felt brand new. "You ready?" he asked. When he felt her nod, he took off.

Once they arrived at the cemetery, Juice stayed on his bike. He considered offering to escort her to the headstone, but she walked ahead without fear. Her mother's plot was close to the entrance, so he was able to keep an eye on her while he waited. There was something beautiful about her somberness. She started talking slowly, but became more conversational in her mannerisms as she went on. Occasionally, she'd dab at her eyes with her index finger between words. When tears poured down her face, he knew that she'd said "Ma, I did it." She buried her face in her hands and Juice felt an ache in his chest. Seeing her fall apart was too much, but he didn't want to intrude on her time with her mother, so he waited. After a few minutes, she regained her composure; kissing her fingertips and placing them on the headstone before walking away.

Kyra was more relaxed on the ride back to Charming. Her grip on his waist was looser and she didn't tremble like she had on the way to Oakland. Once again, her ease put him at ease. It made him nervous, the way her moods affected him.

She lived in one of the newer apartment developments near downtown. When she wasn't in work clothes, it was easy to forget that she was a yuppie. Of course, she lived in one of Hale's pieces of "progress."

"I want you to know that I really appreciate what you did for me today," she said after she got off of the bike. Her eyes shifted between his and the ground. If he didn't know better, he would have thought she was shy.

"No problem. And your car should be ready tomorrow afternoon."

Kyra nodded. "Okay." She stayed in front of him for another moment. They were both quiet. He didn't know what else he wanted to say to her, but he didn't want to go her to go inside yet. When she didn't move, he realized that she didn't want to leave him either. _It's now or never_. She opened her mouth to speak but Juice grabbed her hand and pulled her closer to him. With his free hand, he reached up and stroked her cheek. He looked at her lips and then into her eyes and leaned in to kiss her.

She was surprised at first, resisting briefly before folding her body into his and allowing him to take control. As the kiss got deeper, she wrapped her hands around his neck. Juice pulled her even closer, letting his finger tips graze a strip of exposed skin on her lower back. Their lips parted momentarily, each needing to catch their breath, but he craved more. His lips found her chin and kissed a trail down her neck. Her pulse quickened as she caressed the lightning bolt tats on his head. He almost forgot that they were outside in plain view of anyone who walked by until his cell phone rang, pulling him back to reality. It was his prepay. _Shit._

Kyra exhaled, allowing some of the tension to exit her body. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I gotta answer this." He loosened his grip on her waist and pushed her away slightly so he could reach his cell.

"Yeah?"

"We need you at the clubhouse," Tig's voice commanded on the other end.

"Be there in a few," Juice replied before flipping the phone shut. He looked up at Kyra, ready to give an explanation, but she raised her hand to stop him. She stepped in and brushed her lips against his cheek, thanking him softly before she turned around and walked toward her building. When she made up the single flight of stairs to her door, Juice revved up the engine on his bike and rode off into the night. He couldn't keep the club waiting.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Kyra**_

Kyra was stir crazy. She hadn't even planned to leave the house that day, but because she didn't have access to her car, she couldn't stop moving. In the few hours since she woke up, she'd washed, conditioned, and straightened her hair and cleaned her entire apartment. It didn't help that her mind was working overtime as well. Every time she stood still, she thought about Juice. The sincerity in his eyes when he tried to comfort her, the rush of riding on the back of his bike, how she'd felt his kisses all the way down to her toes. Perhaps there was an advantage to being stranded in the house for a few hours after a night like that. She didn't have to worry that someone would pick up her school girl giddiness.

When Juice arrived with her car, Kyra was busy in the kitchen, sipping wine and preparing food to drop off at Neeta's later. She'd hoped he'd stay afterward, so she was pleased when he asked if he could come in for awhile. "Feel free to give yourself the grand tour," she said while she sliced mushrooms for her spaghetti sauce. He crept around her living room, studying the pictures on her walls. He stopped in front of a large double frame that held her degree from Sac State and a picture of her with her mother.

"Dude, you look just like your mother," he said, almost to himself.

"That a compliment or just a statement?"

"Is it appropriate for me to say that your mom was hot? If so, then yes that's a compliment. If not, then it's just a statement."

Kyra chuckled as she sipped from her glass. "Um ok…" He was nervous, as though he had something to say, but couldn't find the words. It was adorable, watching the tattooed biker go through the motions of post-first kiss awkwardness. Something told her that he hadn't had a first kiss that meant anything in awhile. _Let me put him out of his misery._"So what's up?" she asked him.

He sat down at her dining room table and folded his hands. "I thought we should talk…about last night…"

_He doesn't want to talk. _ _He thinks he has to._"A kiss requires a 'talk?' What are you, a chick?"

"Well…I…Shit." he paused before breaking out into a smile. "Okay, you're right. I sound like a chick right now," he eased back into the chair, relieved that she'd brought up the elephant in the room. "But if we don't talk about it, how do I know you won't slap me if I try to kiss you again?"

She went back to slicing vegetables to hide her amusement. He was really trying to have the "So what are we doing" conversation. "Did I slap you last night?" she asked, her eyes still glued to the cutting board.

"No."

"Well then, what does that tell you?"

He nodded his head and she knew that he understood. "So does this umm open door policy apply to other shit too?"

Kyra looked up and waved her knife playfully. "Who said anything about an open door policy _Juan?_"

"Yeah," he started. "I clearly remember asking you _not_ to call me that."

"You said no to Juancarlos, you didn't say anything about Juan," she replied with a smile. "But back to this so-called open door policy thing…"

Juice interrupted her. "Does it apply to whatever you've got going in the kitchen right now? Smells pretty good."

"Welllll," she exaggerated. "I usually make men _earn_ the privilege of my cooking, but since you did me a huge favor yesterday, I suppose I can feedyou. You got an hour or so to spare?"

"I've got some time."

"Good," Kyra said. "There's beer, soda, and water in the fridge. Make yourself at home."

_**Juice**_

It was ironic. The first time Juice saw Kyra get out of Oswald's Benz in a skirt suit, he'd been slightly turned off. Today, as he watched her strut across the lot in another one of her skirt and heels combinations, all he could think about was how the heels would look crossed behind his back. It'd been two weeks since their first kiss. Since then they'd hung out a few times; meeting for drinks in town or hanging out at her place, and exchanged daily text messages. The previous evening, she'd been wrapped around him on her couch when the club called him away. He was starting to wonder how members with old ladies ever found time to get laid.

No one in the club knew they were hanging out yet and for the time being, Juice didn't mind. The guys wouldn't care, but he wanted to spare Kyra of Gemma's craziness for as long as possible. She still only came to the lot on business for Oswald and when she did, they kept their interactions cordial; exchanging the occasional knowing glance, but nothing indicative of their budding relationship.

Juice scanned the garage. A few of his brothers hadn't clocked in to work yet and most of the ones who lived in the clubhouse were out tending to gun business. A Cheshire cat grin formed on his lips as he whipped out his cell to send Kyra a text: "How long will u b here?"

A few minutes later, she responded: "No more than an hour."

On one hand, he had no idea when someone from SAMCRO would come back to the clubhouse. On the other hand, he needed to get laid. Badly. And there was no way he'd be able to concentrate with Kyra in such close proximity for the next hour. He text back: "Tell Gemma you need to use the wireless."

Gemma was occupied at her desk, so Juice offered to sit with Kyra in the clubhouse while she used her computer. As usual, Gemma gave him a "Yeah right" glare, but as long as she thought he just had a goofy crush on Kyra, Juice figured she was still safe. For the moment, anyway.

Kyra was apprehensive when they walked into SAMCRO headquarters, though she tried to hide behind her usual wit. She was amused at Juice's photo among the wall of mug shots. "Proud day for you, huh?" she quipped.

Juice faked a chuckle, but he was focused on the way her ass moved beneath her skirt. He imagined the clingy fabric bunched up around her hips while he moved inside of her. He'd go slow. He wanted her to feel every inch of him. His eyes trailed down to her shoes, black high-heeled pumps with an ankle strap. _She can definitely leave those on. _

She looked out of place, all polished and shiny in the dust-filled dorm room. After he closed the door, he removed the laptop bag from her shoulder and placed it on the floor. She moved toward the bed, but he grabbed her hand. "C'mere," he said, pulling her body against his.

Their eyes met and she licked her lips as his hands roamed across her ass. He'd learned that she loved the feel of her ass in his hands as much as he did. "Picking up where we left off last night?" she purred.

He answered with a nod and leaned down to brush his lips against hers. It was a dance they'd grown accustomed to; starting with light brushes and gradually delving deeper into each other's mouths. He savored the taste of her strawberry lip gloss on his tongue as he reached up to remove her blazer. Her hands crept up his chest, settling briefly on his shoulders before sliding off his cut.

He held on to her waist as he pushed her toward the bed. Her hands moved downward to his zipper, unzipping and then massaging him through his boxers. He stiffened at her touch. As they eased onto the mattress, Juice pushed her skirt upward and settled between her legs, running his fingertips along the insides of her thighs. Beneath him, Kyra unbuttoned her blouse, her B-cup breasts pushing against her black lace bra. Juice took a second to enjoy the view before taking a handful of her left breast into his hand and teasing the exposed skin on the right with the tip of his tongue. She reacted, arching her back and gripping the sides of his T-shirt. "Take this off," she whispered.

He obeyed and Kyra's eyes scanned his bare chest and shoulders with admiration. "Damn, boy." As he lay down, he spread her legs farther and pressed his hardness against her. He ran his fingertips up her thighs again, this time caressing her wetness through her lace panties. He teased her for a moment before sliding two fingers inside of her. He crooked his index finger, making the "come here" notion and she trembled against him. "Hey Juice?" she panted.

"Yeah?"

"Get a condom."

Within seconds, he retrieved a Trojan from the pocket of his jeans, rolled it on and steadied himself to enter her. He eased in, savoring how her warm walls squeezed around him. Jesus Christ, she was wet. He was sure she'd soak through to the mattress. "Gotdamn," he said with a sigh, increasing the pace of his strokes. _This shit is fucking amazing. _Kyra picked up on his rhythm, catching and returning each of his thrusts as he went deeper. He regretted not having touched any Crow Eaters in the last two weeks. He felt like he would erupt at any second and couldn't bear the thought of finishing first on their first time. He tried to distract himself by kissing her neck, but that only made her wetter, which wouldn't help him hold out at all. When she locked her legs around his waist, Juice knew he was a goner, until she placed her hands on his chest, motioning for him to roll over. He was relieved. The break in motion would at least buy him a few more minutes.

Once she was situated on top of him, Kyra moved her hips in small circles. She clenched the sheets in her fists and her movements got more intense. The sight of her slim waist spreading into womanly hips and thighs that threatened to ride him into oblivion sent a chill down his spine. She locked her eyes shut and attacked her bottom lip with her teeth; a surefire she sign that she was turned on and trying to suppress a scream. Realizing that she was close to the edge, Juice dug his fingertips into her hips and thrust upward. When the moan that she'd been fighting broke loose and she contracted around him with a pace that felt like a manic heartbeat, he finally let go, reaching his climax right before she collapsed onto his chest.

They lay in silence, both panting and searching for full breaths. Kyra found her wind first. Juice expected her usual witty remark, but instead all she said was: "Well, damn."

He circled her lower back with his fingertip. "That a good 'Well damn' or a bad 'Well damn'?"

She laughed. "I think the answer to that question is on your thighs." She was right. She'd leaked a wet, sticky mess all over them. "What time is it?"

He'd forgotten that they didn't have the afternoon to waste in his bed; which was a shame, because he wanted round two. This time, without any clothes in the way. He looked over at his alarm clock. "You've got about ten minutes."

Kyra sighed. "Shit. Let me pull myself together. Can't go back to work looking all post-coital."

Juice grinned as she tried to fix her appearance. She finger-combed the spirals in her hair; her now wrinkled skirt smoothed back down over the same hips that had rocked on top of him a few minutes ago. When she was satisfied with her reflection, she strolled back to the bed to plant a kiss on his lips. He took advantage, pulling her in for more than the good-bye peck she'd intended to give him. "I see I can't give you an inch," she said against his lips.

"Nope. But you do a damn good job of taking eight and a half."

She sat up and giggled, giving him a minute to admire his handiwork. She had a freshly-fucked glow about her. He was tempted to tell her, but figured she was self-conscious enough about back to work looking like sex. "Funny," she said before getting up and walking toward the door. "Call me later?"

"Yes ma'am," he said with a satisfied smirk. He'd never look at her skirt suits the same way again.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Kyra**_

It was Sunday afternoon and Kyra was in Neeta's kitchen, washing dishes. Since she'd been in Charming, she and her aunt had made a habit of cooking and eating together on Sunday evenings after Neeta returned from church. It was a tradition that carried over from the early days in Oakland when Kyra would sit in the kitchen on Sundays as Neeta and her mother prepared dinner.

"So how's the new job?" Neeta asked.

"It's going well. Elliot's a good boss. He trusts me to take care of things and doesn't micro-manage too much," Kyra answered.

Neeta sat down at the kitchen table. "I'm sure Rhonda would be proud."

"Yeah," Kyra said with a nod. "I like to think so."

Neeta was silent for a moment, sipping a Heineken that Kyra brought over for dinner. "So what else have you been up to? You know what they say about all work and no play."

"Not much. Just getting to know Charming."

Neeta stared at her from the table. Her glare unnerved Kyra. She felt as though her aunt was staring through her. "So I've heard," Neeta said.

Kyra paused. "Excuse me?"

"Gemma tells me one of her boys has taken a liking to you."

_Shit, shit, shit. _She and Juice had gone out of their way to keep their relationship discrete. Sure they'd slipped that day they had sex at the clubhouse, but Gemma had to have hawk eyes or Spidey sense to detect that. She wondered if Gemma had just picked up on their attraction or actually knew that they were seeing each other. She had to find out how much Neeta knew before she admitted to anything. "Really? What else has she said?"

"Nothing else."

Kyra continued to concentrate on the dishes. "Hmmm," she replied, deciding not to say anything more.

Neeta wasn't letting up. "Well?"

"Well what?" Kyra answered. "Obviously you assumed what you heard is true."

Neeta took a swig of her beer. "So how serious is it, Kyra?"

Kyra gathered her thoughts. _How serious were she and Juice? _They hooked up a couple of times a week. Checked in with each other via text message or phone calls on a daily basis. They laughed. Played Nintendo Wii. Had mind-blowing, toe-curling sex. How much of this did Neeta already know? How much did she need to know? One thing Kyra knew was that her aunt could detect a lie in a minute. They had the same intuition. "We're getting to know each other, Neeta."

"So then you know about the club, too?" Neeta pried.

The club. Kyra knew that Juice took SAMCRO very seriously, and that it took precedence over everything else in his life. That he was the youngest fully-patched member, and was thus still subjected to some hazing. She knew he carried guns, so she assumed that he occasionally had to use them. She knew he had a separate cell phone for club business."His club, his business," she finally said.

"Yeah well," Neeta huffed. "If you're in his life, it's your business too. This ain't Oakland, Kyra and he's not just some Niner. You don't just date or hang out with one of these men. When it comes to SAMCRO, there ain't no in between. If you're just sleepin' with him, then you don't matter. The men on that lot won't give a damn about your job or your degree or your little business suits. To them, you're just a Crow Eater, no different than any other piece of ass hangin' around that clubhouse."

She steered clear of the clubhouse for that exact reason. "And if it becomes more than that?"

"Well, then you're his Old Lady. Which means you'll be recognized and respected as his woman. And yeah that _sounds_ good from the outside lookin' in, but I work for_ two _Old Ladies. One of whom was kidnapped and the other who just got off house arrest for a murder charge. Two others _were killed _a couple of years ago."

Kyra remained silent.

"Look Kyra, I know you're not a fool. I'm not trying to tell you what to do. I just want you to know what you're getting into before you're in too deep."

Kyra sighed. "I know you're looking out for me, Neeta. Wherever this goes or doesn't go, I'll handle it." She sounded sure when she spoke the words, but she wasn't sure she believed herself. Kidnapped. House arrest. Dead. None of those were options that she wanted to consider for her future. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she'd always known that Juice led a dangerous life, but she felt that he could keep that part of his life separate from what they had. Sure she _liked_ Juice but was she ready to put her safety or life on the line to be with him?

* * *

It was 1:00 AM when Kyra was yanked out her REM cycle by the sound of pounding on her front door. At first, she thought she was dreaming and so she sat perched on her bed for a minute to make sure that the noise was real. When she heard the pounding again, she reached into her nightstand for her 9mm Glock and tiptoed to the door.

_Here we go_, Kyra thought, approaching the door. She hadn't touched her guns since she moved to Charming and was hoping that she'd never have a reason. There was a possibility that Juice was on the other side of the door, but he'd never come by unannounced and since she couldn't be sure, she felt better being safe than sorry. She let out a relieved sigh when she looked through the peephole and saw him. "Jesus Christ," she whispered, before opening the door.

"Sooo what? You couldn't _call_?" she barked. When she took in his appearance, she regretted her words. She was used to him bouncing into her place, dimples showing and brown eyes sparkling. Tonight, he stood before her, in a navy blue hoodie and no cut. His eyes were fixed on his feet; his cheeks, sunken into his face. His golden brown skin looked almost pale and there were deep bags under his eyes.

"I did. Your phone went straight to voice mail," he replied. "I know it's late, but..."

Kyra rubbed her neck and sighed. "Don't worry about it," she said, "come in." His timing was impeccable. Less than twenty four hours after Neeta's "SAMCRO is dangerous" speech, he was at her door, unnerved after a long night. So far, she'd been able to live with the "his club, his business" approach that she took in regards to his life outside of their relationship_. _She had a feeling that all of that was about to change.

He noticed the gun in her hand as he walked in. A dry laugh escaped his lips. "And what's that?"

"I'm a woman who lives alone in a strange town. This is security," she answered. "Are you okay?"

He sat down at the kitchen table. "Long night."

She stared at him a moment, unsure of what to do at first. _Get him relaxed_. "I've got some left over lasagna in the fridge. Why don't you take a hot shower and I'll have some warmed up for you when you get out?"

He appeared relieved at the offer. "Thanks," he said, kissing her cheek before making his way to the bathroom. When she heard the water running, Kyra went to the bathroom to gather his clothes. She figured she'd throw them in the washer so that they'd be clean for him in the morning. She noticed a deep red splotch on the sleeve of his hoodie. It was blood. She did a quick check of his pockets and found two joints. After she started the washing machine, she lit one of the joints and sat on the couch.

Blood. He'd been in SAMCRO too long to be that worked up over a simple fight, so the bloodshed had to have resulted in something severe. Had he killed someone? Seen someone else killed? One of his brothers, maybe? And what was she supposed to do now that she'd seen the blood? She could try to ignore it, but not even her strongest reserve was enough to hide her concern over blood-stained clothing. Should she confront him? No, they weren't that serious and while yes, he'd brought whatever his troubles were into her home that evening, she didn't want him to feel like she thought she was entitled to an explanation. She took another pull of the joint. She had to show him she cared, without coming off anxious or accusatory.

She heard him get out of the shower and walk toward her bedroom. "Did you still want something to eat?"

"I'm not really hungry," he said. "You comin' to bed?"

"Yeah. Here I come."

The lay in bed; passing the joint and staring at the ceiling. The words Juice didn't say hung in the air, making the entire room feel heavy. For the first time since she'd met Juice, Kyra realized the seriousness of his life. He hid it very well, behind dimpled smiles and goofy jokes, but as she lay next to him, she felt the weight of his choices above them.

She ran her fingertips along his bare stomach and sighed. "Look. I know you live a complicated life," she started. "If that was a problem for me, I never would've kissed you and I definitely wouldn't have let things go this far. I don't expect an explanation whenever the club calls or whenever you walk through the door…" She paused, looking for the right words. "I guess what I'm trying to say is: you don't _have _to tell me everything. But if you ever need to talk, you _can_ tell me anything."

Juice never told her what happened that night, but as they lay in the dark, he gave her a peek into his life with SAMCRO: the time he got stabbed in county jail, narrowly escaping a bomb in Belfast, seeing one of his brothers get blown up in the parking lot at Teller-Morrow. Each memory randomly spilled out of his mouth as if they'd sat on the tip of his tongue for months, waiting to be liberated.

Kyra listened, occasionally asking questions or running her hands along his skin as he spoke. After he fell asleep, she lay awake, with Neeta's warnings floating through her mind. She didn't make a habit of analyzing men's behavior, but this time she couldn't help herself. Juice was opening up to her, which meant that on some level, he needed something more than the comfortable friends with benefits situation they'd created. Companionship, good sex, entertaining conversation, and the occasional home-cooked meal, she could do. Comfort after a night of murder and mayhem? Maybe. Risking her safety and livelihood was going to be a stretch. Kyra ran her hands gently over the tattoos on his arms, enjoying the feel of his body next to hers. _He hasn't asked you to put it all on the line yet,_ she told herself. _Let's just cross that bridge when we get to it_


	6. Chapter 6

_**Juice**_

Juice was speechless when he woke up that morning. He'd expected the frustration that followed him to sleep to greet him when he opened his eyes. Surprisingly, the only thing he felt upon waking up was a strange sense of peace. He spent twenty minutes watching Kyra stir next to him in her sleep. He wanted to chuckle every time the material from the satin scarf she used to tie up her hair at night brushed against his chest. He remembered the long explanation she'd given him the first time he spent the night about why he couldn't leisurely run his fingers through her hair while she slept. None of it made sense to him, but since she was adamant about it, he figured it was best to let it be.

On an ordinary morning after he slept over, Juice liked waking up to Kyra's body wrapped around his. This morning was different. It was more than waking up with a hot chick that he happened to like. It was waking up at ease after a night of chaos. Without him saying a word, she'd known what to do when he came to her place the previous night. She didn't bombard him with questions. She didn't freak out. She let him relax. Her words played back in his mind: "You don't _have _to tell me everything. But if you ever need to talk, you _can_ tell me anything." He realized that Kyra was what he'd craved for those fourteen months in Stockton. She had a life outside of the club, but was smart and tough enough to handle herself within SAMCRO. She knew not to ask too many questions. And she was strong enough to handle the truth about his life. She was the Old Lady that he wanted, but was that what s_he_ wanted? To be obligated to deal with SAMCRO and the danger that came with it?

Kyra's hands moved under the sheets as her eyes fluttered open. "Good morning," she whispered, rubbing her hand up and down his thigh.

Juice felt himself stiffen. "Good morning to you, too," he said with a smile.

When her eyes opened completely, she studied his face. Concern filled her still groggy voice. "You okay?"

He wanted to tell her what he'd been thinking since he woke up. That he was more than okay. That she'd given him everything he needed. That he wanted her to be the one. "Yeah, I'm fine," he replied. _That talk will have to wait for another day. _He couldn't think of anything else to say, so he rolled over on top of her and buried his face in her neck. "But _you_ might wanna hold on to the headboard," he said between licks and kisses. Each time his lips met her skin, he moved an inch lower.

"And why is that?" Kyra asked playfully as his tongue tickled her navel.

"Cuz I'm about to thank the hell out of you."

* * *

"Gotdamn," Juice said when Kyra opened the door. SAMCRO was scheduled to leave for Nevada in about twenty minutes. Back at the clubhouse, members, hang arounds, and Old Ladies were crowding the lot, preparing for the trip. The one person Juice wanted to say good-bye to, however, was in her apartment in downtown Charming. He figured he'd spend a few quick moments with Kyra before catching up with brothers when they hit downtown. In his mind, she was like his part-time Old Lady and until he was sure that she was willing to be with him full-time, he was content with that.

He wasn't prepared for the sight that greeted him on the other side of her door: Kyra, wearing a sort black dress that hugged every one of her curves. Her hair hung straight down her back. On her feet was a pair of strappy black sandals with heels much higher than the ones she wore to work. Like she was about to be an extra in a Beyonce video. "I wasn't expecting you for another few minutes," she said, accepting the "Hello" peck he placed on her cheek.

"So this isn't a 'Let me give you a proper good-bye before you hit the road, Juice' outfit?"

"Sorry Juan, but no. It's not."

She strutted by him and Juice hung behind her to enjoy the view. He never got sick of watching her walk in front of him. He'd memorized the rhythm of her steps and the way her ass moved with each one. Damn, she was hot. He wrapped his arms around her waist and spoke into her neck. "So does this mean I can't get a quickie in the kitchen?"

Kyra laughed, lightly smacking his hands away. "As lovely as that sounds, I'm gonna have to say no."

Juice followed her into the bedroom. "So then what's the special occasion?"

She stopped in front of her mirror, inspecting the outfit. "Sade concert tomorrow night in San Francisco," she said, her face glowing. The woman loved Sade.

"By yourself?" Juice asked.

She picked up a red dress from the mass of clothes on her bed. "No," she answered in a nonchalant tone. "A friend from college got an extra ticket at the last minute."

_A friend from college._ A guy. She was going to a concert in that dress with a fucking guy. The words escaped his mouth before he could stop them. "A guy?"

Kyra looked up, her eyes locking with his in the reflection of the mirror. He could tell she was thinking, choosing her words carefully. _Shit_, Juice thought. "That's a funny question coming from a man who entertains various breeds of strippers, tricks, and hoes on a nightly basis."

Crow Eaters. She was bringing up Crow Eaters. He'd barely touched any of them since he'd been seeing Kyra and she assumed he was fucking other women. Which meant that she was definitely going to this concert with a guy. Juice felt his shoulders get tense. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She sat down on her bed to remove her shoes. "It means that there's a conversation that goes with that question. And if you're not ready to have that conversation-which I don't think you are-then you need to change the subject."

She was right. She'd never questioned him about other women so what right did he have to question her about other men? But she was wrong. He w_as_ ready to have that conversation. He just wasn't ready to hear her say "no." He looked at the clothes strewn across her bed and was reminded of their differences. He wasn't the guy who would give her concerts in San Francisco. And even though she'd never asked him to be that guy, Juice knew that no matter how comfortable she was in his world, she would always be a girl who would occasionally want those things. Who was he to tie her down and tell her that she couldn't have them?

Kyra unzipped her dress and Juice felt the veins in his neck pop. Would she take off her dress for the guy who took her to the concert? Would she wrap her legs around his back and bite her bottom lip when it got too good to her? He couldn't stand the thought.

He looked down at his feet. "Well, I gotta go. Club's gonna be leaving in a few."

She got up and walked over to him. "Hey," she said, looking into his eyes. "You be safe out there." She kissed his cheek. "I'll see you in a couple of days, right?"

Juice nodded. "Yup." His nostrils flared as he turned to walk away and he slammed the door hard on his way out. He couldn't remember the last time he was happier to get on the road.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Kyra**_

Kyra decided on a knee length capped-sleeved black dress for the Sade concert. Her hair was styled to perfection; bone straight, shiny, and swinging from root to tip. On her feet was a pair of red patent leather peep toe pumps. She checked her reflection and smiled. She hadn't had a reason to get dolled up since she moved to Charming. It felt good to knock the dust off of one of her flashier pieces.

As excited as she was about the concert, she couldn't get Juice off of her mind. Their last conversation played on repeat in her head as she drove down the 4 en route to San Francisco. Kyra wasn't angry with him for questioning her and she'd always known about the women. She saw them—switching around in their booty shorts, fishnet stockings, and plastic platforms—every time she went to Teller-Morrow. Kyra never lied to herself about who Juice was, she just wanted to make sure he knew where he stood with her. If he wanted the right to question what she did when they were apart, he'd have to commit.

But then she had to ask herself again if that was what she wanted? To commit to Juice and trade her comfortable place on the sideline of his life for what? What exactly would life with Juice, in SAMCRO, look like? What would he expect her to do? Was it more than just lending an ear and a shoulder on rough nights? How often would she be in danger?

_This is why I need to go to San Francisco_, she thought, turning up her radio. She'd been having the same conversation with herself since Neeta's warning. When she'd received the call from Dante, a guy she dated on and off in Sacramento, saying his date to the Sade concert in San Francisco had cancelled on him last minute, Kyra was equally giddy and relieved. Giddy at the thought of seeing Sade live for the first time, and relieved to escape the Juice cyclone spinning around in her head, if only for one night.

Kyra's phone rang, cutting through the noise in her head. When she fished her Blackberry out of her purse, she noticed that she didn't recognize the phone number. "Hello?"

A vaguely familiar female voice spoke. "Kyra?"

"Yeah?"

"This is Gemma. You need to get to the clubhouse. It's Juice."

Kyra could hear her heart beating in her ears. "What's wrong?"

"Just get here as soon as you can." Click.

_Just get here as soon as you can_. Something was very wrong. Why wasn't Juice able to call her himself? Was he hurt? Was he in jail? If he was dead, Gemma would have told her, right? And if he was hurt, why wasn't he at the hospital? _Because they didn't want to have to file a police report._ He was definitely hurt. How bad was it? What if the conversation they'd had in her apartment the other day was their last?

Kyra's hands shook against the steering wheel. She had to find an exit.

_God, I love this man. __Please let him be okay_, Kyra prayed as she drove back to Charming. Wait. She loved Juice? How would she feel if she arrived in Charming to find that Juice was dead? Tears stung the corners of her eyes. She couldn't stand the thought. But did that mean that she loved him? Or was she just afraid to lose him?

The ride back to Charming was the longest hour of her life. She didn't care anymore about their boundaries or being an Old Lady or any of the bullshit that had occupied her mind for the last few days. All she wanted was to know that Juice was okay.

By the time she pulled up to Teller-Morrow, she had pulled herself together. Inside, she was still frantic, but she knew that she couldn't go into the clubhouse in panic mode. Especially not if she had to face Gemma Teller. Whatever was wrong with Juice wouldn't be helped by her anxiety. He would need her to be calm.

Gemma sat on a picnic bench, cigarette in hand when Kyra walked up to the clubhouse. "What happened?" Kyra asked in a voice so calm, she surprised herself. "Is he okay?"

"He's been shot, Kyra."

Kyra's knees trembled. _Shot? _"Oh my God," she whispered. She leaned on the bench for support and swallowed the lump in her throat. _Shot, not killed. He's still alive._"Is he—um…"

"He took a bullet to his back. Tara's in there working on removing it." Kyra nodded and moved toward the clubhouse, but Gemma stood up, wedging her body between Kyra and the door. She folded her arms. Her jaw clenched and eyes narrowed as she spoke. "You're here right now because Juice asked us to call you, not because you were _entitled_ to a phone call. I'm sure I don't have to tell you that whatever you see or hear doesn't leave this clubhouse, do I?"

Kyra clenched her fists. Was this bitch serious? Hazing her outside while Juice was laid up with a bullet wound? _Stay calm, Kyra. The quicker you get on the other side of that door, the better. One...two...three... _She straightened her posture, meeting Gemma's glare with one of her own. "No," she said firmly. "You don't."

Gemma nodded and opened the door. "Glad we're clear. Follow me."

The men in the room looked like one large, leather-clad blur to Kyra. "Juice is tappin Oswald's assistant?" she heard as her heels clicked on the hardwood floor. "Way to go, kid," she heard another voice, with a thick Scottish accent say. _Jesus,_ Kyra thought. _The man has a bullet in his back and these fools are worried about who he's fucking._

Gemma led her to a back room. "He's been in and out of consciousness and he's lost some blood. That something you can handle? Tara doesn't need you in here crying and blubbering all over the place."

_This bitch is really testing my patience tonight._"I'll be fine," Kyra replied. She held her breath as Gemma opened the door, preparing for the worst. What she found was Juice spread out on a table, lying on his stomach with his eyes half open. Two empty bottles of Jack Daniels were next to his face. Kyra guessed they were serving as his anesthesia. Tara stood over him, her forehead wrinkled in concentration while she worked. She looked up when she heard the door open. "How is he?" Kyra asked.

"Well, I've got the bullet out," Tara said, "and luckily, it missed his spine. I'm trying to stop the bleeding now, but he should be okay." She paused. "He's pretty doped up right now, but he asks for you every time he wakes up."

Kyra exhaled. He was okay. He was going to be okay. And he'd been asking for her. She reached down and touched his hand. "Hey you," she whispered.

Juice's eyes fluttered. When they finally settled on Kyra's face he smirked and squeezed her hand. "I missed you babe," he slurred.

"I'm right here," she said. "But I gotta let Tara finish stitching you up. I'm gonna be right outside the door until she's finished, okay?"

"Don't leave, okay?"

Kyra squeezed his hand. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

"Hey Kyra," Gemma interrupted. "Let's go get some coffee while you wait for Tara to finish."

Kyra did not want to spend any time around Gemma Teller. She had a feeling as she followed her to the kitchen that Gemma wanted to do more than just have coffee.

"How do you take your coffee?" Gemma asked.

"Heavy cream," Kyra replied. "Three sugars."

Gemma scoffed. "Sorry we don't have a _latte_ machine for you."

Kyra knew she had to walk a fine line with Gemma Teller. She knew better than to disrespect the matriarch in the clubhouse, but Kyra still had Neeta's words in her head from her first day of high school. _You have to make them respect you ._She had to show respect without fear. "Didn't grow up with latte machines in the hood, either," she said. "Regular coffee still gets the job done."

"So you and him," Gemma said, giving Kyra her cup. "How long's that been goin on?"

Kyra blew lightly into the cup before taking a sip. "Something tells me you know already know."

"I have an idea," Gemma sipped her coffee. "So how much do you know about him," she waved a hand, "and this?"

S_he wants to know how serious we are._"If by 'him,' you mean Juancarlos Ortiz from Queens, New York," Kyra said, "I know enough." That part was true. She knew that his mother had sent him to live with family in California when he was sixteen, after moving back to Puerto Rico to heal the heartbreak caused by his philandering father. That his aunt and uncle had sent him to Cal Tech, hoping he'd use his book smarts and computer savvy to become an engineer, but he was kicked out during his first semester for hacking into the school's database to change grades. That afterward, he'd moved to Charming with his first and last girlfriend, who'd left him when he fell in love with SAMCRO. "As far as 'this'," Kyra imitated Gemma's hand wave, "I know what he wants me to know. I don't ask for anymore. His club, his business."

Gemma cocked her head and stared at Kyra a moment. "And if he wants to make it _your_ business? The phone calls in the middle of the night? The blood stained laundry? The other women? You prepared for that?"

Kyra had no idea, but under no circumstances would she let Gemma smell blood. After tonight, she and Juice would have to have the talk and if they decided to get serious, she couldn't give anyone reason to question her. Especially not Gemma. "Well, I've done okay with all that so far," she replied. "If Juice decides that he wants me more involved, we'll figure it out."

Tara came into the kitchen. Sensing the tension, she gave Kyra and Gemma a knowing look. Something told Kyra that she'd been here before. "He's all patched up," she said. "I had a couple of the guys carry him to his room. He was sleeping when I left, but he could wake up at any time."

Kyra was relieved, for the news that Juice was okay and for a reason to get away from Gemma's death stare. "Can I see him?"

Tara nodded. "Yeah. I'll go with you to explain his meds and how to change his dressings." She pointed to the door. "Hey Gemma, Clay wants you to know that he's headed home."

"Duty calls," Gemma said, placing her glass in the sink. She kissed Tara on the cheek. "As always, thanks Doc." She sized up Kyra once more. "Good night ladies," she said before she exited the kitchen.

"Let me guess," Tara said, walking over to the sink. "She gave you the 'You'd better know what you're getting into' speech, right?"

The question caught Kyra off guard. She'd only spoken to Tara in passing, but was under the impression that she and Gemma were pretty close. When Kyra thought about it, Tara was probably the one person in all of Charming who knew what she was going through. She wanted to talk to her. _Needed_ to talk to her, but she didn't know if her doubts would land in Gemma's ear. "I'm guessing you've heard it before?" she finally asked.

Tara smiled. "Yeah. I know it well."

This was it. Her opportunity to gain some helpful insight. "So you and Jax," Kyra started. "How do you…"

Tara finished her sentence. "…make it work?"

Kyra nodded.

Tara thought for a moment. "You know, there's no science to it. In the end, I just knew… I decided that Jax was worth it. It took eleven years for me to realize it, but I did. And it hasn't been easy. It's downright shitty sometimes. But then I look at what we're building; me, him, and the kids...And I know it's worth it."

"So you had eleven years to figure out that you wanted to be with Jax?" Kyra had only been with Juice for three months. "How do I know that Juice is worth it?"

"It's not something you _know_. It's something you _decide_," Tara answered. "If you wait until you know for sure, you'll be waiting forever. There's not a day that goes by when I don't ask myself what the hell I'm doing here. But the guy had a bullet in his back for hours and all he could think about was you. I think that's a pretty good sign of where he stands."

"And what about Mommy Dearest?"

Tara laughed. "Well, lucky for you, she's not your guy's actual mother. She gets better. She just has to know that you won't bail on him when things get scary. Once she knows you're loyal, she'll respect you."

Kyra had more questions, but she knew it was getting late and she wanted to get back to Juice. "Thanks Tara."

"Anytime."

Juice was snoring with his mouth wide open when Kyra entered his dorm room. She hadn't been in there since the first time they'd slept together and had never taken the time to look around. At first glance, it looked like the typical biker man cave. SOA paraphernalia and porn posters covered the walls. Upon further inspection, she saw the little things that gave clues about his personality; the Xbox that was hooked up to the flat screen television on the wall; a bookcase filled with comics, spy novels, and computer books from the Cal Tech library; a dresser littered with more grooming products than one would expect of a biker.

She searched the room for makeshift pajamas. It was bad enough she'd have to sleep in the recliner next to the bed to ensure she wouldn't hurt him by stirring the wrong way in her sleep. No way would she be comfortable sleeping in the tight dress. She found two pairs of boxers in what she guessed was his underwear drawer. _I'll take some of the dirty stuff to my place to wash tomorrow_, she thought, pulling on boxers under her dress. She sniffed a SONS T-shirt that was lying on the floor. After deciding that it didn't reek too badly, she removed her dress, slid the T-shirt over her head, and settled into the chair. Tara's words echoed in her mind: _It's not something you know. It's something you decide_. She looked down at SONS logo on her chest. _Well I'm here Juancarlos. Now it's your move._


	8. Chapter 8

_**Juice**_

Pain ripped across Juice's lower back, startling him out of his slumber. "Jesus Christ," he whispered, adjusting his eyes to the sun rays that broke through the blinds. He tried to recall the previous evening, but the memories were caught in thick fog that choked his brain. His head was pounding. How much had he had to drink? The sharpness tore through his back again and he remembered: he'd been shot and used two bottle of Jack to dull the pain. No wonder he was hungover. What the hell was it with his back? In county, Tig had damn near broken his ribs by punching him there. He recovered from that, only to be stabbed the following day. Now there was a bullet wound back there. Just great.

He heard a stirring near the bed and looked up to find Kyra wearing one of his SONS T-shirts, curled up in his recliner. He recalled seeing her last night, when Tara was treating his wound. _She's been here all night._ He'd known for awhile that he was ready for an Old Lady, and when he decided to pursue Kyra, he'd done so with this moment in mind. He'd just needed a sign, some kind of indication from her that she not only knew what she was getting into, but was willing to deal with it. Waking up to a bullet wound and Kyra by his side in a club T-shirt was as good as signs got. She was ready to do this with him; all he had to do was say the word.

An alarm went off. He recognized it as the alarm on Kyra's Blackberry. Her eyes fluttered open as she yawned and stretched her legs. _She's so cute_, Juice thought with a smile.

"You're awake" she said, a hint of surprise in her voice.

"Yeah. I gotta nice wake-up call from my lower back."

"You in pain?" she asked.

Juice tried to chuckle, but it only inflamed the ache. "Only when I breathe."

She got up and walked toward his dresser, where there was a row of prescription bottles. "Well you're about due for a pain pill." She came to his bedside with two pills and a glass of water. "You know that thing about you not having to tell me everything? It doesn't apply to bullet wounds. I won't ask right now, but at some point, I need to know what happened."

Juice nodded. "Yeah, I know."

Kyra's mouth twisted into a sly grin. "You know I missed the Sade concert last night, thanks to you? I'm starting to think you did this on purpose."

"Ha. And all it cost me was a few pints of blood and my mobility for the next few weeks," he joked. "So how'd you know to come here?"

"I gotta a phone call from Gemma. Told me I needed to get here as soon as possible."

Juices eyes widened. "Gemma?"

Kyra let out a small laugh. "Yup. The HBIC herself."

_She survived Gemma? Yeah, she's definitely ready for the talk._"Well, your face is still intact so I'm assuming you handled yourself well."

"I did alright," she said with a nod. She took a deep breath. "So I hear hangin' with you could get me killed?"

_Shit. _There was no good or easy answer to that question that wasn't a lie. "Well, I mean—"

"Before you even start," Kyra interrupted, "don't sugar coat. And don't make me any promises that you can't keep."

Juice let out a light sigh. "Look, I can promise to do my best to protect you. And if you're my girl, every man with a Reaper on his back will do the same. But I can't promise that crazy shit won't happen," he searched her eyes for a hint of confirmation. "That gonna be a problem for you?"

The look on her face was familiar. It was identical to the look she'd given him the night at the bar when he'd saved her from that Nord. "You sound like you want to keep me around," she dared.

This time, he didn't need to think on it or gather any intel. "That's cuz I do."

She grinned and in typical Kyra fashion, chose her words carefully. "Well, I'm gonna need a crash course on this whole Old Lady thing, so don't get your tattoo artist on the phone just yet," she said. "But if you want me to be your girl, I think I can handle that."

Juice grinned back. It was official. "Good."

Kyra raised a brow. "And the bitches on the lot in the booty shorts and plastic heels?"

W_ell, I've barely had any Crow Eaters in the last three months anyway._ And he'd seen his mother go through hell over his father's bullshit. It'd be complicated enough, getting her adjusted to club life. No point in making things worse by adding unnecessary bullshit to the mix. "As of now, they're a non-issue."

"Good," Kyra said with a nod. "Cuz I'll get real Oakland and act a fuckin' fool in this clubhouse if I catch you on some bullshit."

He wanted to laugh, until he recalled her rap sheet. She was dead serious. "I'll keep that in mind." His eyes traveled down her bare legs, and he felt the urge to be between them. The bullet wound was right in the middle of the muscles he needed to properly thrust and stroke. _Dammit_. He wouldn't be getting any, any time soon. "Too bad we can't seal the deal right now," he said with a knowing glance.

She got out of the chair and crawled into bed next to him, being careful not to shake the mattress too much. "You're gonna have to do a better job of dodging bullets. I can't postpone my sex life every time you have rough night, babe."

Juice looked down at the SONS logo on her chest. _This is __**my **__Old Lady_. The thought made him smile. He felt an "I love you" gather in his throat but he swallowed it back. It was too soon. Instead, he snaked his arm around her waist and planted a kiss on her cheek. The kiss would have to do for the moment.

_**Kyra **_

It had been a week since the shooting and Juice was healing on schedule. She couldn't wait until he was mobile enough to be moved to her apartment. Traveling to Teller-Morrow every day after work to help him bathe and change his dressings was becoming a bit much. Not to mention, she figured he'd have a quieter recovery without all of the noise and distractions of the clubhouse.

She was still getting used to being around the SAMCRO boys. She'd known Jax and Clay before hooking up with Juice, but everyone else was new to her. She learned names quickly, if only to remember which ones gave her the creeps. Bobby and Opie were pretty polite. Chibs seemed cheerful, though she could never make out what the hell he was saying through that Scottish brogue of his. She kept a safe distance from the two crazy-looking ones, Happy and Tig. It would be a long time before she was comfortable around either of them.

Gemma hadn't said much since that first night in the clubhouse. Kyra was sure she still had her doubts, but Kyra wouldn't break her neck to prove anything to the matriarch. She cared about Juice, she knew what she signed up for, and she was going to stick by her decision to be with him. As long as Gemma didn't disrespect her, she could learn to trust Kyra on her own time.

She'd just finished changing Juice's dressings and was on her way to the kitchen to grab a beer for him. As she closed the Juice's behind her, she ran smack dab into a woman. "Oh shit, my bad," she said, stepping back to make sure the woman was okay. Kyra took in her appearance. Bleach blonde hair, micro-mini skirt, and four inch platforms shoes. _Crow Eater. _Kyra leaned against the door and crossed her arms. "Can I help you?" she asked.

"I just wanted to check on Juice. I heard he got shot."

_Check on him? Yeah right, bitch._"He's occupied right now, but he's fine."

The Crow Eater's face contorted. That obviously wasn't what she wanted to hear. She looked Kyra up and down. "Occupied? Says who? The help?"

_Here we go_, Kyra thought. She'd known it would only be a matter of time before she'd have to deal with one of the women who hung around the clubhouse. She and Juice were still a new couple. It wasn't like SAMCRO issued press releases or official announcements when one of them took an Old Lady. She didn't know the protocol for handling Crow Eaters, but she knew how to let a bitch know that she was on dangerous ground. She stepped forward, closing in on the woman's personal space. "I'm gonna make this _real_ easy for you. You can turn around and go back to whatever it was you were doing up front _or_ you can stand here, keep talkin' to me crazy, and I can _beat the brakes_ off you in front of this whole damn clubhouse." Kyra stepped back and threw her palms up. "What's it gon' be?"

The Crow Eater stared her down for a moment, searching her face for sincerity. Kyra didn't budge, her eyes fixed on the woman, daring her to swing or say another word. Kyra hadn't been in a fight since she'd left Oakland, but as she squared off with the Crow Eater, she felt all the familiar body sensations. Her knuckles tingled and blood rushed beneath her deep brown skin. When she realized that Kyra wouldn't back down, the Crow Eater spun on her heel to walk away. "Black bitch," Kyra heard her mutter.

"Hey, while you're out there why don't you pass a message to the rest of your friends in the plastic heels, courtesy of the _Black Bitch_: Juice is officially off the fuckin' market. And if anyone has a problem with that, she can come see me." Kyra watched the Crow Eater stomp back to the front of the clubhouse with a twinge of amusement. _Maybe this Old Lady thing won't be so hard after all._

_The End_


End file.
